


Sorry 'bout your boots

by AssortedGeekery



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Caretaking, Gen, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, I've actually been to the Alley Cantina, Keith is DD, SO MUCH Vomit, Shiro makes poor decisions, Sickfic, Underage Drinking, Vomit, birthday parties with young military men can be insanity, hangover from hell, unbelievable amounts of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssortedGeekery/pseuds/AssortedGeekery
Summary: In which Shiro's 20th birthday party goes exactly as planned, and the aftermath....is considerably more than planned. Lucky for him, Keith is on hand to fill in as temporarily responsible adult while Shiro...isn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cabbagespoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbagespoon/gifts).



> Written, as always, for the amazing CabbageSpoon from a brief exchange in one of their fics concerning the apparent aftermath of Shiro's 20th birthday party.

All things considered, the weekend had started out great. It wasn’t every day that someone got their birthday on a Saturday, and if you were Takashi Shirogane and your birthday fell on February 29th, the odds of having a birthday on a Saturday were slim to none. This called for an epic celebration, which started with wings at a local joint and continued down the street to a bar that was A) loud, B) open late, and C) was very very lax with ID checks. Just to be safe, though, most of Shiro’s friends had come in small packs with a DD each, because barely legal and actually under-age drinkers would never be so responsible. Given that more than half of the guys involved were of age anyway and they all looked about the same age, it made an excellent cover. 

 

Keith sat at the end of the bar, his new (fake) ID in his wallet, sipping a tonic with lime and watching three guys from Engineering line up 6 shots for Shiro. 6 because if he had been legal to drink, he’d be twenty four tonight instead of twenty. Shiro was halfway across the room, dancing gleefully with some random woman some of his friends had talked into flirting with the birthday boy. And Keith….Keith was being boring on medical orders. The antibiotic he was on to clear up an ugly ear infection was known to have exceedingly nasty side effects when combined with alcohol, and the possible fallout wasn’t worth a few drinks for Shiro’s birthday. So tonic and lime it was, plus snacks two of the waitresses kept bringing him. 

Out in the space unofficially designated as a dance floor- the Alley Cantina didn’t have officially designated  _ anything _ , really- Shiro and several of his friends, all of whom were already buzzed, were dancing with anyone who got too close. Keith leaned back against the bar and watched, amused. Shiro’s dancing got more and more enthusiastic and less coordinated, though he was nowhere near as clumsy as some of his friends had gotten. 

It was funny right up until Shiro danced over, grabbed Keith by the hand and bodily hauled him out onto the floor.

“ _ Hey _ ! Shiro, Shiro  _ no _ , we talked about this.”

“You said dancing alone made you feel like an idiot,” Shiro informed him proudly. “If I’m dancing with you, then you aren’t alone and you won’t feel like an idiot. Problem solved!”

He looked so thrilled with himself for ‘solving’ Keith’s problem with dancing in front of strangers that Keith couldn’t bring himself to stomp back to the bar. Instead, he let Shiro dance with him….right up until the point that Shiro grabbed him by the hand and the waist and attempted to do something from one of the flashy competitive dance shows he liked to watch. 

“ _ Oh _ -kay, that’s enough,” he said at once, attempting to squirm out of Shiro’s hold as the much bigger man pulled him along. “I’m not drunk enough and you aren’t sober enough to be trying that stuff.”

“You aren’t drunk  _ at all _ ,” Shiro pointed out. 

“That’s right, because I’m on antibiotics for another day and a half and I don’t want to end up with awful side-effects and be out of the flight simulator for even  _ longer _ . And I never want to puke in a sim  _ ever again _ . Once was more than enough.”

In fact, it might have been one of the most humiliating moments of his life, but he’d rather not dwell on that.

“Spoilsport.”

“Yes, I am. Come have nachos with me, soak up all the beer from the wing place.”

“Why do you have  _ nachos _ , we just ate!”

“Because the waitresses like me, I guess. Come on, help me eat them.” He took Shiro’s hand and towed him back over to the bar where his nachos and drink sat. Pushing Shiro onto a stool, he flagged down a waitress and asked for a glass of water. “Here. Eat. Go on.”

Shiro shrugged and dug in with the sloppy enthusiasm of the sloshed. Keith picked around him, pulling the soggy chips from the bottom and eating them carefully to avoid burning himself. Halfway through, when Shiro surfaced from his nacho-haze, Keith pushed the glass of water at him. “Drink that. All of it.”

“ _ Keith _ ,” Shiro began. 

“Hey, Shirogane! Get over your ass over here and go your birthday shots, man!”

Shiro was gone in an instance, leaving Keith with a full glass of water and the feeling that this was going to end  _ so _ badly.

 

Several hours later, Shiro was still dancing…but with much less coordination than before. The six birthday shots had been followed by fried green beans (Keith), at least two more beers, a glass and a half of water (Keith), more shots, a brownie with a candle stuck in the middle (Keith and the waitresses) and something fruity and brightly colored that Keith just  _ knew _ had more alcohol than anything that sweet should contain. 

Keith had been dragged out to dance a couple more times, had cringed his way though some impromptu karaoke, kicked ass playing pool (to the tune of a cumulative one hundred forty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents), bullied increasingly drunk men into tipping as well as paying for their drinks, and had somehow become the best friend of every waitress in the place. 

He was finishing a bowl of ice cream he suspected had come from the bar cook’s secret personal stash- it was far too good to be standard on the extremely limited bar menu- when Jamie, one of Shiro’s older (legal) friends, called Keith over to him. He wasn’t officially DD, but clearly he’d had the foresight to limit his drinking to ‘pleasantly buzzed’ or thereabouts. 

“….you think you can get Shiro home?” he asked quietly, when Keith got to his side. 

Keith looked over to the dancefloor, where Shiro had stopped dancing for a moment and was wearing a somewhat dazed expression. As they watched, he swayed a little and was steadied by a laughing, almost equally unsteady friend. 

“….yeah, I can,” Keith sighed. “Does he have a tab I need to steal his wallet for?”

Jamie laughed. “Nah, we bought his drinks. Just get him home, yeah?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, man. Too bad you couldn’t drink tonight, but at least Shiro’s got someone responsible to get him home.”

Keith nodded, going back to try and pay one of the waitresses for his evening. Three of them refused him in a row, so he stuffed some cash under his empty ice cream bowl and headed out onto the floor to fetch Shiro. 

“ _ Keith _ !” Shiro flung an arm around him as soon as he was close enough, hauling him in for a tight, somewhat sweaty hug. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in  _ forever _ !”

“Yeah, I bet,” Keith sighed. “But it’s after midnight, so it’s not your birthday and you need to get home. Your hangover is going to be  _ murder _ .”

“Naahhh, you fed me plenty. I’ll be  _ urp _ fine.”

Keith looked up at Shiro when he burped, nervous. 

“You okay?”

“I’m awesome,” Shiro assured him, releasing the hug but keeping his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “I am absolutely f-  _ whups _ !”

His boot caught on the edge of the doorframe as they exited, sending him into a stumble. Keith grabbed him around the waist to try and correct his balance, and with Shiro’s arm still across his shoulders, the combined torque was enough to send them both staggering into the creosote bushes outside the bar. Naturally, Shiro handed on top of him.

“Get  _ off _ of me,” Keith swore, struggling under Shiro’s weight. “ _ Fuck _ , Shiro, what have you been drinking, molten lead?”

“Are you calling me  _ fat _ ?” Shiro demanded, trying to push himself up. “I’ll have you know there isn’t an ounce of fat on m-“ One arm gave out and the branch under the other hand buckled under his weight, sending him crashing back down onto Keith with a startled grunt. 

“Oh my  _ god _ , get your enormous ass  _ off me _ ,” Keith groaned. “I can’t breathe.”   
Shiro tried shuffling backwards out of the bushes, escaping to fall back on his butt, shirt rucked up into his armpits and halfway over his face. Keith scrambled up while still in the bush, carefully picking his way out of it to stand over Shiro, hands on hips. 

“I should just leave you here and send a cab or something,” he said flatly, watching his friend struggle to pull the shirt back down, then very very carefully tucked it in. 

“But you won’t.”

“No, I won’t. Come on, get up. Let’s go home.”

He had to haul Shiro up from his seated position. When he reached full height, Shiro swayed a minute, clearly disoriented by the sudden change in altitude, before draping himself over Keith’s shoulders like some kind of gigantic sentient backpack. 

“You’re warm,” he enthused.

“You’d be warmer if you’d brought a jacket,” Keith muttered, looping one arm around Shiro’s waist to help balance and steer him. Shiro had left his jacket back at the Garrison, insisting that it was plenty warm without. Which it had been, when they’d left base. But now it was after midnight on the first of March in the middle of the desert and it was cold outside. 

“Mmmmmmmnope….this is better.” Shiro nuzzled affectionately into his hair.

“You smell good too.”

“We both smell like creosote bush.”

“I  _ like _ creosote bush.”

 

In the parking lot near the wing place, Keith sighed. They’d come on Shiro’s motorcycle, but there was no way he was letting Shiro drive like this. Which meant trying to keep Shiro on the bike  _ behind him _ . 

“Can you hang onto me on the ride back?” he asked, handing Shiro’s helmet over and pulling his own on. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk and  _ I’m _ driving. Can you do it?”

“ _ Yup _ ,” Shiro confirmed, popping the p like a teenage girl with bubble gum. “Definitely. Noooo problem.”

Keith sighed again, shoving Shiro’s helmet into his hands. “You had better, cuz if you fall off you’re gonna end up in a cactus and I am  _ not _ pulling spines out of you.  _ Again _ .” He was fairly sure Shiro was so drunk he’d rag doll if he were to fall off the back of the bike, but his apparent magnetic attraction to cacti was legendary and Keith had spent more time than he cared to remember pulling cactus spines from places Shiro couldn’t easily reach. 

“I’ll hang on,” Shiro promised, fumbling with the helmet. Keith fastened his own on, then grabbed Shiro’s and jammed it on, doing up the strap with a little more force than was strictly necessary. 

Shiro swung a leg over the bike and Keith had to scramble to get ahead of him, because Shiro was half scooted up to the driver’s position before he could blink. Keith braced his feet and pushed back hard, only to almost launch Shiro off the back of the bike when the older man wasn’t holding onto anything. Shiro yelped and grabbed Keith’s shoulders to steady himself.

“ _ Hey _ !”

“ _ I’m _ driving.”

“But  _ Keeeeiiiittthhh _ , it’s  _ my _ bike.”

“You’ll be warmer if you sit behind me and let me take most of the wind,” Keith pointed out. “You said you were cold, didn’t y- _ oof _ !”

Shiro plasteed himself to Keith’s back, arms looped firmly around his middle to the point of making it hard to breathe. It took Keith several minutes of pawing and yanking before SHiro loosened up enough for him to start the bike and head out of town, across the desert towards the Garrison. 

  
  
  
  


They were about halfway back, the lights of town behind and of the Garrison ahead far off enough that their headlights were the only real illumination between them, the velvety black desert night, and the infinite reaches of the night sky overhead, when Shiro groaned queasily into the in-helmet radio. 

“Shiro?” Keith ventured. 

Shiro’s helmeted head pressed into the back of Keith’s, his breath hot against the side of his neck. 

“ _ Rrp _ ….nnhh….I d-don’t….I….my  _ stomach _ …”

“Do I need to pull over?”

Another soft, breathy burp came to him over the speakers, and Keith sighed heavily. He’d been afraid of this. 

“I’m gonna pull over,” he promised, starting to slow. 

Shiro jerked slightly against his back with a louder belch. 

“No, let’s… _ urp _ ….’scuse me, let’s just go home…” He tightened his hold around Keith’s middle, making Keith squeak faintly with the pressure. “Please?”

“If you puke down the back of my neck I’m going to dump you on the side of the road, and you can  _ walk _ back to base,” Keith warned, hitting the accelerator again. “Tell me if I actually need to pull over, okay?”

“Okay. I… _ hrp… _ I promise.”

 

Shiro jolted against his back several more times before they hit the streetlights outside the base, breathy little burps and occasional uncomfortable mutters coming direct to Keith’s ears over the radio. He started slump as they slipped past the gate guard, a friend of a friend who had taken the overnight shift specifically for Shiro’s birthday. She’d just waved as Keith approached the gate, grinning when he saw Shiro plastered to Keith’s back. 

Keith was just pulling into the little dirt lot behind the solar panels where students and the youngest officers were allowed to park when Shiro groaned in his ear. 

“Shiro?”

“ _ Hrp _ ….Keith…..I…I don’t feel too  _ llp _ good….”

Keith bit back a curse. “Alright. We’re almost back to your room, okay? Can you hold on that long?”

“Y-yeah, I think… _ rrp… _ think s-so _ …” _

They parked and Keith clambered off the bike in time to catch Shiro before he could stumble in the gravel, holding him steady while they both got helmets off. 

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get you to bed.”

Shiro nodded, muffling another, louder belch in his fist. He made to lean on Keith as they headed towards the darkened residential complex, ending up clinging to Keith from behind like some kind of massive character backpack  and groaning queasily into his ear. 

“ _ No _ , not like that,” Keith hissed, tugging at Shiro until he was facing more or less forward, in case of disaster. Shiro went where he was bid, shambling unsteadily along the walkway and inside once Keith let them in with the ID he fished out of Shiro’s pocket. 

One of his burps echoed loudly in the stairwell, a route Keith chose after considering what the jolt of the elevator might do to Shiro’s stomach. It was just two floors up….doable, albeit difficult. Keith thanked whatever deity watched out for him that he hadn’t been drinking that night. If he had, the trip up the stairs would have been impossible, and as it was, they had to stop twice, once so Shiro could bend over with his hands on his knees and groan worryingly, and once so Keith could shift Shiro’s weight to better distribute it; hauling a man nearly twice his size up the stairs when said man was barely moving under his own power was a hell of a workout. 

 

Outside Shiro’s door, Keith fumbled with the keys while Shiro leaned heavily on him, holding his stomach. 

“Hhk _ ….oh _ ….oh _ god _ , K-keith? Keith, I-“

“Hang on, hang on, I’ve almost got it!”

“ _ Keith _ , I’m g-gonna-“

“Okay, here we go. Door’s open, let’s just-“

Shiro started for the door, hiccuped, and doubled over with a wet belch. Thin, clearish liquid splattered to the floor, narrowly missing the tops of Keith’s boots but slopping all over the toes of them. Keith cringed and grabbed his arm, half steering, half pulling him inside. 

“ _ Bathroom _ ,” he hissed.

“S-sorry,” Shiro croaked. “Sorry ‘bout your b-  _ hrrlp _ !”

Keith got him by the hair and forced his head over the toilet just in time, and nearly missed anyway, as a spurt of mostly liquid puke spattered on the seat. As Shiro heaved, Keith applied pressure to the small of his back, pushing until Shiro sank onto his knees.

“You are a  _ disaster _ ,” he groaned, pulling a washcloth out of the cabinet and wetting it. As Shiro continued to vomit, Keith folded the damp cloth against the back of his neck, then leaned against the wall to pull his boots off and do what he could to clean the worst off of them. 

When it had been quiet except for Shiro’s panting for a minute or two, Keith leaned over him and flushed the toilet. Shiro groaned and leaned into his leg. 

“You done?” Keith asked gently. Shiro nodded, cheek rubbing against his pant leg, and Keith sighed. “I’m gonna get you something to rinse your mouth out with. Then you’re going to drink some water and go to bed, okay?”

“Y-yeah….okay….”

Some watered-down mouthwash and a glass of water later, Keith steadied Shiro as he squirmed out of his clothes and into a pair of ratty sweatpants he insisted were the most comfortable thing in the world to sleep in. 

“You’d better not’ve set an alarm,” Keith warned. “You’re gonna want to sleep as long as you can. That hangover is gonna be brutal…”

“Keith?”

“Mmm?”

“….gonna puke again.”

Swearing, Keith shifted his grip to Shiro’s arm and hauled him back to the bathroom for another round of vomiting, this time with a lot more moaning and noisy retching, as opposed to the previous session. It took longer as well, and by the time they’d completed the vomit-wait-mouthwash-water routine again it was nearly two in the morning. Keith tucked Shiro into bed with a sigh, carried the trash can from Shiro’s tiny kitchenette over to be within easy reach in case Shiro needed it when he woke up, then peeled his own clothes off and bundled up in a blanket on the couch. Under other circumstances he would have either snuck back to his own room or crawled into the other end of the bed with Shiro, but neither option appealed much at the moment. Cocooned in his blanket, Keith settled down and closed his eyes, hoping to get some sleep before dawn and Shiro’s inevitable hangover. 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Keith managed to sleep past sunrise. In fact, there was a thin beam of bright sunlight falling across his chest, warming him gently, when he woke to a loud thud and bleary swearing. Sitting up, he listened just long enough to hear a moan before he crawled out of his warm nest of blanket and shambled back to the bedroom. 

Sure enough, Shiro was kneeling on the floor with most of his blankets fallen around him, bent over and clutching his head. 

Keith sighed and went over to close the blackout curtains, where a lot  _ more _ sunlight was coming in than had been on the couch. 

“Morning,” he murmured, once the room was dark. He fumbled back across the room to turn the lights on their lowest setting, just enough to let him see Shiro in his hunched up position on the floor. “Hangover hit, huh?”

“Hhnnnngg _ gawd _ ,” Shiro croaked. “M’  _ head _ …”

“Yeah, I just bet. Can you get back into bed?”

Shiro gave his head the tiniest little shake. “N-need t’ pee…”

Keith groaned. Of course. “Can you even stand up?”

“Y-yeah, just….just need a minute.”

Keith waited patiently, until Shiro began to uncurl a little.

“Ready?”

Shiro nodded faintly and reached for Keith, who obligingly stood still while Shiro hauled himself up. Standing, he swayed dangerously, leaving Keith to wonder how much of it was hangover and how much was the possibility Shiro had woken up still a little drunk from last night. 

“Good?” Keith asked carefully. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m g-  _ hrrk _ !”

Keith yelped, dragged sideways as Shiro made a clumsy dive for the trash can beside the bed. They both hit the floor at the same time, Shiro on his hands and knees over the can, Keith sprawled awkwardly to one side. As Keith sat up, cringing at bruises, Shiro buried his face in the trashcan and was, if the sound was anything to go by, violently and copiously ill. 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , Shiro,” Keith groaned, tucking his legs under himself and rubbing Shiro’s shaking back. “Just get it out….this is what happens when everyone you know buys you a drink and you actually  _ drink them all _ .”

“Never gonna  _ hic _ drink ‘ _ gain _ ,” Shiro moaned hoarsely, voice echoing dully inside the trash can. “N-never in m’ li-  _ HRRLLP!” _

_ “ _ Yeah, yeah, whatever. Stop talking until you’re done.” Keith kneaded gently between Shiro’s shoulders. “It’ll be over soon.”

 

And it was, thankfully. When Shiro had stopped gagging, Keith helped him to the bathroom, forced him to sit  _ down _ to pee, and went to deal with the befouled trash can. The liner was run down the hall to the floor’s garbage chute and dumped, the can itself double-lined and put back beside the bed. Keith also brought out the smaller plastic trash can from Shiro’s desk, which would be easier to pick up if Shiro needed it, and which could be emptied into the toilet and rinsed out- with  _ bleach _ . 

Shiro was done when Keith returned, sitting on the closed toilet lid like he’d been ordered with his head in his hands, looking sweaty and miserable. 

“Can you brush your teeth, or is that going to make you gag?” 

“ _ Gag _ ,” Shiro hiccuped.

“Okay. Mouthwash it is. And then back to  _ bed _ .”

“‘kay.”

 

Shiro curled on his side in bed, hugging his stomach as Keith pulled the blankets back onto the bed and heaped them around him. 

“You’re going to drink some water, eat  _ two crackers _ , and then go back to sleep,” Keith informed him, draping the sheet over Shiro. He was sweaty for now, but leaving him totally uncovered in the chill of the morning didn’t seem fair. 

“ _ Keith _ , I-“

“No arguing. You  _ need it _ .”

“‘m sorry ‘bout your boots…”

“You had better be. Sit up a little, I’ll be right back.”

After half a glass of water and the requisite two crackers, Shiro put his head under the pillow and went back to sleep. Keith made sure he was sound asleep before pulling on his befouled boots and jogging back to his own building, where he changed into more comfortable clothes, packed every bit of homework he had, and jogged down to the commissary to stock up.

“Stomach flu going around?” the clerk asked as he checked out. 

“Nah….one of my buddies had too much fun last night,” Keith assured her. 

“ _ Ah _ . Kind of you, to take care of him.”

“He’s going to owe me  _ for life _ .”

The clerk grinned evilly at that. “ _ Ohhhhh _ , it was  _ that _ kind of night, huh? I’ve got a few of those favors in reserve too. Good luck.”

Keith thanked her and jogged back to Shiro’s building. 

Shiro was still asleep- thank heavens for small mercies, so Keith made a sandwich of toaster waffles and Nutella, brewed instant coffee so the smell of the cheap little drip brewer didn’t wake Shiro up, and settled in with a homework assignment.

He managed perhaps an hour and a half of work, plus the time it had taken to run his errands, before he heard Shiro wake up. 

Specifically, he heard rustling from the bedroom, then a weak groan, a guttural burp, and a loud, belching gag. By the time he had actually gotten  _ into  _ the bedroom, Shiro was sitting up in bed, the little trash bin in his lap, fingers of his free hand clenched in the sheet as he heaved into the plastic receptacle.

“That is one  _ hell _ of a hangover,” Keith murmured, sitting beside him and rubbing his back again. “Are you still drunk? You were earlier.”

Shiro raised his head and looked blearily at Keith. His nose was running and there were tears streaking his cheeks. Sweat stuck his bangs to his forehead. In short, he looked pathetic. “Just let me  _ die _ ,” he whispered. “ _ Please _ .”

“What, and get tried for manslaughter? Or elder abuse or something? Not a chance.”

Shiro managed a weak laugh, then groaned and clutched at his middle. “ _ Ow _ , ohgod…”

“Y’ done?”

“Think so….”

Keith took the trash can away and handed him a fistful of tissues. “Clean yourself up while I’m gone.”

“Where’re you going?”

“To empty this.”

“…..oh.”

 

Keith returned with a clean trash can and a bottle of orange Gatorade, which he forced Shiro to drink in its entirety before he would allow his friend two painkillers and a piece of dry toast. 

“ _ Slave driver _ ,” Shiro whined.

“You are  _ so _ dehydrated right now, I don’t know how you aren’t actually shriveling up like a prune,” Keith retorted, tossing the empty bottle into the bigger trash can. “Want any more toast?”

“I didn’t want the  _ first _ piece.”

“You need something solid in your stomach. It’ll help.”

“Nnh.”

“Gonna go back to sleep?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Good. You’ve got places to be tomorrow.”

Shiro groaned and rolled away from Keith at the thought. “G’ _ way _ , Keith.”

So Keith went, back to the kitchen to finish his coffee, then into the tiny living room to curl up and get ahead on the reading for one of his classes. He made more coffee, then microwaved a ramen brick with a hotdog cut up in the broth, working quietly while Shiro slept. 

 

In the early afternoon, Keith heard a groan from the bedroom, then a louder one. He stopped writing and listened, waiting for any sign Shiro needed someone to come in and save him from himself. Nothing. Nothing, that is, until Shiro staggered unsteadily out of the bedroom towards the bathroom, clutching his stomach. 

“Shiro? The…the trashcan was  _ right there _ , you….” Keith stopped. So did Shiro, right in the middle of the room. He shivered so hard that Keith  _ saw it _ , one hand flying up to his mouth, then jerked forward. Orangey liquid dripped between his fingers before he dropped the hand, staggered another step forward, and threw up. 

Keith leapt up swearing, grabbing him by the waistband of his sweats when it looked like he was going to fall into the rapidly expanding puddle of  _ orange _ in the middle of the living room floor. 

“You couldn’t have  _ used the trash can _ ?” he demanded, looping an arm around Shiro when just the hands in his waistband weren’t enough to hold his friend up. “It was right there! Ohhhhmygod, why are you so  _ tall _ , you’re too fucking tall, you know that?” Shiro still didn’t have a shirt on, giving Keith nothing to really hang onto, but he did his best, leaning back as a counterbalance to Shiro’s considerably greater weight. 

When there had been no gagging or heaving for the better part of a minute, Keith pulled him closer and turned him around. “Done?” he asked, making a small sound of relief to see that Shiro had somehow managed to avoid getting anything on himself. “Or should I get you to the bathroom?”

Shiro made a wet coughing sound, jerked forward, and promptly spewed a generous mouthful of vomit down Keith’s chest. 

Keith swallowed a curse, but couldn’t hold back a high-pitched keen of disgust as the hot fluid dribbled into his belly button. 

“ _ OH- _ kay, bathroom for you.  _ Now _ .”

 

He turned Shiro around and frog-marched him to the bathroom, forcing him to sit on the closed toilet lid while Keith gingerly peeled his own shirt off. 

“K-keith?”

“Gonna puke again?”

Shiro nodded. Keith sighed loudly and hauled him off the toilet, slamming the lid up in his hurry so Shiro could lean over it before he burped up another trickle of orange puke. Keith hovered over him, stroking his hair back and murmuring gently to him in spite of his own frustration with the whole situation. 

After a few more minutes, a cup of watered-down mouthwash and liberal  application of a warm wet washcloth, Keith tucked Shiro back into bed. He spent a quiet hour there, coaxing water, crackers and a little chicken broth into him before letting him sleep. Then it was out to the living room to clean up, thankful that the Garrison never put down carpet anywhere important. Finished, Keith waited a little longer, then stole a t-shirt and hightailed it back to his own room to get clean clothes. The trip took less than an hour, even factoring in the time to shower hurriedly and towel his hair dry before jogging back to Shiro’s quarters. 

Clearly, less than sixty minutes was still too long. Shiro was in the bathroom when Keith returned, asleep on the bathmat beside the shower with a towel clutched in one hand like a child’s blankie. Judging by the smears on the toilet seat and down the side of the bowl, he’d...been in a hurry when he’d arrived, but he’d made an effort to clean up. 

Keith sighed and went to make sure the bedroom was alright- it was- before padding back to kneel on the mat and shake Shiro’s shoulders. 

“You  _ can’t _ sleep here,” he murmured, as Shiro began to rouse. 

Shiro responded with a broken groan and rolled over, face pressed into Keith’s stomach. Hie hands came up, twining around Keith’s middle as he clung. 

“ _ Kill meeeeeee _ ….”

“‘Fraid not,” Keith sighed, stroking Shiro’s hair in spite of himself. It was heavy with sweat and a little greasy against his fingertips. “You want to try showering, or just go back to bed?”

“I wanna  _ diiiieeeee _ …..”

“Well,  _ yeah _ , I mean…..that’s what happens when you drink so much I kind of wondered how you weren’t already dead. Your metabolism is freaky.”

Shiro snuffled miserably and nuzzled against Keith’s shirt. “....you smell good.”

“Like creosote?” Keith drawled. 

“ _ Nooo _ …..like soap. And….” Shiro sniffed in earnest. “..... _ parsley _ ?”

“That’s in my soap,” Keith sighed. “For my skin.”

“....parsley in your  _ soap _ ?”

“And rosemary, and aloe and tea tree oil, yeah. And oatmeal.”

“....is this soap or something you  _ eat _ ?”

“It’s a soap.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

“Because we can’t all be blessed with perfect skin, asshole, and the chemical washes make my skin dry out. Do you want a shower or  _ not _ ?”

“ _ Nooooooo _ .”

“Alright, then. Back up, and back to  _ bed _ , and you’re not allowed to just….decide not to puke in the trashcan, you hear me? What were you thinking, anyway? You had to walk all the way across your apartment!”

“Wanted a drink of water,” Shiro grumbled as Keith manhandled him into a sitting position. “I finished the stuff in my room.”

Keith sighed loudly and stood, then helped Shiro up as well.

“I’ll get you some water. Or something else, if you want. More Gatorade?”

“.....did you get the yellow one?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Keith sighed. “And you should eat some more crackers.”

“ _ Keith _ , nooooo,” Shiro groaned, leaning heavily into Keith’s side. “ _ Please _ .”

“You really need more than gatorade and crackers. You take the offer or I’ll find you something more substantial.”

Shiro whined all the way back to his bedroom, but when Keith brought the requested yellow sports drink and four crackers, he took the crackers without further complaint, then curled back up to sleep. 

 

Keith’s evening was more of the same, washing out the trash can several more times as gatorade, crackers, toast and broth all made reappearances. But the time between incidents was lengthening, the violence ebbing, and Keith was fairly sure that tomorrow, Shiro was just going to be hurting and dehydrated but not actually  _ hungover _ anymore. Lucky him, he’d applied for the Monday off, arguing that he should get it for his birthday, a typical day off for most officers, since the actual day had fallen on the weekend, and the paperwork had cleared just fine. 

Sometime around ten, Shiro fell into what looked and sounded like a proper deep sleep. Keith sighed in relief, put a fresh waterbottle on the nightstand, and pulled the other end of the bedclothes up so he could wriggle under. No sleeping on the couch tonight...he could run back to his room and get into uniform in the morning.

 

Come morning, Shiro was still asleep, as was Keith’s leg where Shiro had rolled over onto it. Hissing curses, Keith wriggled free and awkwardly hop-ran back to his quarters for a shower before classes started. 

 

He was still in class sometime around noon when Shiro was called to Iverson’s office, ostensibly for a couple of quick questions about this or that program. In this utterly unsupervised period of time, Shiro scrabbled out of bed, washed his face and ran went fingers through his hair, put on a uniform and bolted something approximating breakfast out of sheer reflex before hurrying off to meet Iverson.

What  _ Keith _ saw was Shiro, washed, dressed, and looking like death, heading down the hallway with a look that suggested he was going to his execution instead of his CO’s office. Keith quickly found a reason to be going in the same direction and followed, nervous.

He lingered in the waiting area once Shiro was inside, giving some vague excuses to the secretary there, and was rewarded- if you could call it that- with an outraged bellow of surprise from inside the office. The door slammed open, releasing Shiro to stagger unsteadily out of the office. His face was a horrible color and he was making distressed sounds. 

Keith rushed for him, taking him by the shoulders just in time for Shiro to lurch, hiccup, and heave the remains of his breakfast down Keith’s front from collarbone to toes. 

“ _ KOGANE _ !” Iverson roared. Since the blinds in his interior windows had been down, Keith assumed that his CO had, as many people did, assumed that Keith was to be found in Shiro’s orbit regardless of time of day or any actual schedule he might be following. 

“Yes, sir?”

Iverson appeared in the doorway, having clearly been giving the same treatment Keith had, albeit from a bit of a distance. Vomit dripped from his hands and midriff, oozing down his thighs from where it had obviously been directed by the top of his desk. Almost hysterically, Keith wondered how much paperwork had been destroyed by Shiro’s queasy stomach. 

“Get him  _ out of here _ ,” he snarled. 

“To medical, sir?”

“I don’t care where, just do it  _ now _ !”

Keith nodded, got an arm across Shiro’s shoulders, and lead his friend out of the office. 

 

In the hall, Shiro bent over and heaved up another splatter of puke, along with a lot of groaning and gagging. Keith got him by the back of the shirt to steady him, acutely aware of the vomit soaking into his socks and his underwear and pretty much everything his was wearing. 

“ _ Keith _ ?” he managed, half straightening, which was enough for Keith to grab him and keep hustling him down the hall. 

“We’re hitting the showers, and then you’re going back to  _ bed _ .”

“Why?”

“Why  _ what _ ?”

“Why showers?”

“Because I’m covered in your puke!”

 

People in the halls got out of their way as they passed, making it a relatively quick trip to the gang showers in the students’ training area. By this point Shiro had belched another mouthful of vomit down his own front and was groaning, clutching his stomach as it, so far as Keith could tell, cramped viciously.

“What did he even  _ want _ ?” Keith demanded, pulling SHiro into the lockers and under the closest showerhead, which he turned on with no heed to Shiro’s yelp as the cold water hit him. “It’s your day off!”

“‘Unno,” Shiro managed, hugging himself under the icy spray. “D-d-didn’t seem t’ have a point…”

“I bet it was just to see if you’d survived your weekend,” Keiko muttered, attempting to swipe chunks off his chest. “Or just to be a dick because you took a Monday off for personal leave. Asshole.”

Shiro answered with a guttural belch and some wholly unproductive retching over the floor drain.

 

As clean as he was going to be, Keith took a moment to remove and empty his boots, tied the laces together, and slung them over his shoulder. They were probably ruined, and he’d been needing new ones for months, but he’d take them back to his room anyway. Or to Shiro’s room, and use them as a reminder of what Shiro owed him the next time he needed a favor.

“Come on,” he said gently, turning the water off and taking Shiro’s arm. “Back to bed.”

“Nnngg….”

“I know. I can’t decide if you’re just  _ that _ hungover or if you might have picked up a bug somewhere…”

“.....shouldn’t’ve eaten,” Shiro groaned. 

“....what did you eat?”

“ _ Breakfast _ .”

 

Keith  _ stared  _ at him. Nevermind that it was after lunch, Shiro’s idea of breakfast when he was eating in his quarters was a lot of food…

“....a...a  _ normal _ breakfast?”

Shiro nodded miserably. “It was a  _ reflex _ ! I got called and I just….  _ Rrrp _ ...acted without thinking…”

Keith groaned. “ _ Shiro _ ….you’re dehydrated and you hadn’t really eaten in over twenty four hours and you bolted a  _ normal breakfast _ ?”

More sad nodding, and another wet burp. 

“....even the canned coffee?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Well at least I know it’s not stomach flu,” Keith sighed. “Come on. Let’s get back. Or are you going to throw up again?”

“....I dunno…”

“We’re going, then.”

 

Shiro did throw up on the way back, once in the hall and once in a bush outside his building. Keith kept him on his feet, half pulling him along, half supporting the heavy, wet weight of his friend plastered to his back and shoulders. Back inside, he wrestled Shiro out of his wet uniform, made him drink  _ more _ Gatorade, and forced him to just  _ lie down already _ .

“Keith?” Shiro asked softly, as Keith was heading for the door. He probably had a good excuse not to go back to class for the rest of the afternoon, but he needed clean clothes again.

“Yeah?”

“.....sorry about your boots…”


	2. Prequel: Keith vs the Simulator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much-requested prequel, wherein Keith is laid low by an ear infection and summarily dressed down. Also featuring clingy Shiro-with-a-cold and the Simulator Session of Doom.

Cold and flu season at the Garrison was a thing to be reckoned with. No matter what the medical personnel did, at the end of the day they were keeping a fair number of teenagers and young adults crammed together in close quarters for classes and meals, plus the rest of the non-academy personnel, officers and handful of civilian staff. In the dry desert environment, bugs spread like wildfire. After a certain number of cases within a couple of days, medical would send word to the head office and the Academy would shut down for a few days to minimize spread. It always happened once or twice a season, usually in November and again in late January or so. 

Keith was usually lucky enough to escape the spring bugs for whatever reason- Shiro’s theory was that he spend his winter holiday working on his little cabin in the desert and giving his system some kind of healthy super-charge before coming back in time for the January cadet-plague. But this year it was  _ ugly,  _ and it came late, not until almost halfway into February, so any holiday super-charge he might have had was worn off by then.

Keith actually showed signs before medical quarantined the Academy for a few days, going down hard and fast with a fierce runny nose and sore throat, and he was already bundled up in Shiro’s quarters by the time the Academy was closed and Shiro joined him, sniffling morosely, in bed. Together, they wrapped up in blankets and pajamas, marathoned Disney movies and ate a lot of doctored-up chicken ramen from a packet, Shiro’s solution to the lack of chicken noodle soup in his pantry. 

 

He was back on his feet in a few days though, sniffling and congested but feeling functional when classes picked back up. He did his homework in Shiro’s quarters while he friend moaned about his continued illness and tried to drag him back into bed to serve as a personal space heater. 

“ _ I _ have homework to do. Just because  _ you’re _ still off on medical leave doesn’t mean  _ I _ am.” 

“ _ Keith _ , I could be  _ dying _ and you’re worried about  _ homework _ !”

“Yes, because after your funeral this essay will still be due and McKenna is out to  _ get me _ .”

Shiro whined about how heartless he was, then dragged the duvet off the bed with a couple of pillows and made a nest halfway under the corner desk, next to Keith’s knees, so a least there was  _ some _ heat exchange going on.

By the time Shiro was also back on duty, Keith’s cold had faded to a lingering sniffle and he’d largely forgotten about it. 

 

A week later, back in Shiro’s room again in order to get a little help with some math that just wasn’t working out, Keith took a break to knuckle his eyes and sigh unhappily.

“Something wrong?” Shiro asked, looking up from his own pages of equations. 

“ _ Headache _ ,” Keith muttered. “I’ve had it all day.”

“Did you take anything?”

“ _ No _ , I was in  _ snff  _ class.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Still sniffling?”

Keith shrugged. “Little bit. Why?”

“I thought you were all better.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , it’s a headache and a tickle in my nose.”

“Take a deep breath through your nose for me.”

“ _ Shiro _ , I have  _ homework _ !”

“Humor me. And then I’ll get you some painkillers.”

Keith scowled at him, but attempted to take a deep breath through his nose. He failed, managing barely any air at all and finding a sudden pressure in his sinuses. “ _ Hhnk _ ! Wh-what?”

Shiro leaned in close and prodded at his cheekbones, making Keith pull away from him at the faint ache of it.

“I think you have a sinus infection,” Shiro declared. “You should get checked out in medical.”

“I do not.”

“You might. You should go to medical.”

“I’ve got to get this project finished first. All the calculations are  _ due _ .”

Shiro gave him a  _ look _ .

“I’ll go when it’s done!”

“I’ve got a few days off base for work starting tomorrow, am I gonna come back to you being a total wreck because you have the sinus infection from hell?”

“ _ No _ !”

 

Shiro left the following morning, and Keith didn’t go to medical. He turned in his project, got the corrections on it, and stayed up late working on the corrections while ignoring the pounding headache he’d developed. Judging by his sudden need to sneak over and steal one of Shiro’s sweaters to bundle up in, he was probably running a fever too. 

The headache was the worst of it, and the congestion was frustrating, but he had work to do and not enough time to do it in, and he would  _ manage _ .

 

By the third day of Shiro’s absence, the congestion had mostly cleared up, but the headache remained and had gotten worse. If he turned too fast or raised his head in a hurry, waves of dizziness would sweep over him, and he was  _ sure _ he still had a fever. Which made no  _ sense _ , the congestion was clearing up and should be taking the other symptoms with it! 

On the morning of the fourth day, Keith was vaguely aware that something was up with his hearing on the left side of his head. Everything coming in that ear sounded….muffled. Weird. 

 

He paid it no mind until pulling on the headphones in one of the flight simulators his class was working with. In an effort to keep costs reasonable, most trainee classes used big, old-fashioned headsets with microphones for their training, unless individuals wished to buy their own helmets. The headsets were easier to fit to dozens of differently shaped heads and much easier to keep clean, but they clamped down over the ears and suddenly Keith felt pain, sharp and sudden, flare on the left side of his head. 

He’d go see someone in medical after his run in the simulator. His project corrections had been turned in and he didn’t have any homework assigned for tonight…yeah, he could go to medical, finish his classes and then go to bed early. 

Keith was still making these plans when the sim started. The current course of study was on handling tight quarters in flight, the kind of thing he usually excelled at: all hairpin turns and narrow canyons, heart-poundiogly last-minute maneuvering that left him giddy and grinning afterwards. 

Not so today. Only a couple of minutes in, he felt his stomach churn and his throat tighten, spilling an excess of sour saliva into his mouth. Swallowing hard against the sudden nausea, he struggled through the next three minutes and twenty one seconds of flight time before the correct flightpath demanded a tight, looping sort of s-bend curve and his stomach never recovered from the second swerve. 

Keith ripped his headphones off in an effort to get the microphone out of the way, managing just before his breakfast came up all over the console in a sudden, choking wave. 

Gagging, he pitched forward as the simulator lurched again, alarms screeching a warning of impending ‘crash’, and heaved up another voluminous splash of vomit, hands landing flat in the mess in a vain effort to steady himself as the sim jolted and shook in its ‘crash’ sequence. 

“KOGANE!” The instructor bellowed, when the sim stilled and the door slid open. “What the hell did you think you….were…”

The small crowd of classmates peering inside reeled back at the smell, exclaiming loudly. 

Keith hiccuped and sat down hard on the floor of the sim, stomach still in knots, head throbbing so terribly it was nauseating in and of itself. 

“SHIROGANE!” The instructor called. “Where did-  _ you _ . Get  _ in there _ and take him to Medical!”

Keith looked up from his somewhat unsteady study of the floor plating when a hand, big and warm and familiar, came down on his back. 

“ _ You _ didn’t go to medical like you promised,” Shiro said quietly. He was still wearing his traveling clothes, comfortable enough for a long flight but respectable-looking enough that he could safely wander around base and observe classes in them. 

“Got  _ b-busy _ ,” Keith croaked. When Shiro leaned a little closer, he allowed himself to collapse sideways into his friend, eyes squeezed shut against the dizziness. 

“Yeah, well now you’re gonna be  _ not _ busy. Can you walk?”

“I c’n try….”

Shiro nodded, straightening up and taking Keith’s hand. He pulled Keith upright, then cursed softly and grabbed for him as Keith swayed and staggered, clutching his stomach and the left side of his head. 

“And that’s a solid no on the walking thing. I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

“‘k-kay….”

On the positive side, being physically carried out of the simulator probably saved his reputation, in that he was obviously  _ so _ sick that he couldn’t exit on his own and was therefore sufficiently badass enough to be forgiven the simulator crash.

Once in the hallway outside the simulator room, Shiro broke into a trot towards medical, moving steadily until Keith moaned and pulled at his sleeve. 

“St-stop, I….I’m….”

Shiro got him over a hallway trashcan before the retching started, bringing up anything that might have been left, plus a lot of rancid spit and fruitless heaving. 

  
  


“Ear infection,” the doctor on call announced after a cursory examination of the thoroughly miserable cadet sitting his exam table. “A  _ nasty _ ear infection. I would also hazard a guess that you had a minor sinus infection as well-“

Shiro made a tiny noise of triumph. 

“- but that seems to have largely cleared up on it’s own. This ear infection, though…frankly I think you’re lucky your eardrum hasn’t ruptured already, especially after your trip in the simulator. How long have you been experiencing symptoms?”

“Uh…..”

“He had that cold that went around, but got it before the Academy shutdown,” Shiro supplied. “And a little over a week after classes were underway again, he was sniffing and congested again…or…still, I suppose, and he was a little tender. He promised to go to medical four, almost five days ago.”

The doctor snorted. “i see. Well, Mr Kogane, you have earned yourself a minimum two days off of classes and any other duties you may have, excepting coursework assigned to cover your absence from classes. You will remain in your quarters or in the quarters of a friend and will order your meals to be delivered. I will provide documentation and permissions to that effect. And you will take the medication I’m about to prescribe  _ religiously _ for ten days or I will have you confined to a room here in Medical, is that clear?”

Keith attempted to nod, winced at the pain of it, and mumbled a sullen ‘yessir’.

“Now, Mr Shirogane, am I to understand that you will be minding him?”

“As much as I can, yes.”

“Good. You will also receive orders to remain in Mr Kogane’s company for the rest of the day. Keep an eye on that fever- if it rises, call me immediately. If it hasn’t started to go down by  morning, bring him back in here. Make sure he eats, hydrates and takes his medication on time, with food. An ice pack wouldn’t be amiss either.”

“Of course, doctor. Thank you.”

 

Back in Shiro’s quarters, after a brief and rather humiliating shower wherein Keith had sat on the floor of the shower and submitted to having his hair shampooed like a pet dog (he hadn’t noticed at the time, but he had clutched at his pounding head with messy hands and gotten vomit all over his hair), Keith curled in Shiro’s bed with an ice pack held to his left ear and a cup of tea at his elbow while Shiro fussed beside him. 

“I left you alone for  _ four days,”  _ he repeated for what might have been the third or fourth time since getting back to his quarters. “Four days and you’re puking all over the simulator while running a high fever!”

“I  _ know _ ,” Keith grunted. “I was  _ there _ .”

“ _ Keith,  _ you have to start taking better care of yourself.”

“I thought it was okay,” Keith insisted, beginning to chafe under Shiro’s scolding. “I was going to go. But then the sinus stuff stopped and I figured the headache was just…stress? When it really started to hurt in the sim I was gonna go to medical after, I swear…just…I  _ get it _ , okay? Stop lecturing.”

Shiro sighed heavily and climbed into the bed. It wasn’t  _ really  _ wide enough to accommodate two people, and if Shiro had been lying down his shoulders alone would have made the position uncomfortable at best, but with them both sitting up, backs against the wall, it was doable. And it was even easier when Keith shifted, tucking himself in between Shiro’s legs and leaning back against his chest with a shiver. 

“That’s some fever,” Shiro said quietly, pulling the blankets up around Keith. 

“Y-yeah…..”

“Here’s hoping it goes down by morning, Iverson’s going to have kittens if I’m off duty for too long, especially since he  _ just _ approved my leave request for my birthday.”

“I still can’t believe you’re getting away with taking Monday off when your birthday is  _ Saturday _ ,” Keith muttered. “Must be nice, being the Golden Boy.”

“Shut up,” Shiro grumbled. “I haven’t taken a vacation day in  _ two years _ . I think I’m allowed to take just the one day for my birthday the only time in  _ four years _ that it actually  _ happens _ , you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith sighed. “Happy fifth birthday and all that.” The painkillers were starting to work at last, easing the throbbing headache and pain in his ear to manageable levels, and curled in Shiro’s lap he realized he was warmer than he’d been all week. “….Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“….’m gonna sleep now.”

“Alright, but I’ve got to wake you up to take your meds in a few hours, okay? And so you can eat.”

Keith nodded faintly, already starting to doze. 

“‘mkay….”

Shiro chuckled softly and brushed his damp hair back from his head. “Sleep, then. I’ve got you.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Being myself, I actually mocked up a layout for Shiro's quarters based on a long-term hotel I've stayed in for conferences. It can be found in the link below. As a military brat, I can assure you that this kind of layout would be idea if you were throwing together a series of sort-of officer's quarters for the new officers (young dudes like Shiro), as they'll pack together in nondescript buildings well and give the illusion of more luxury by not putting the bathrooms for anyone's room next to the bedroom in anyone else's room.  
> < a href="https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/1ASRoMgtaC_P2UJbXTl44BukWCk7YKX02IOWzh9lRo0M/edit?usp=sharing” > Shiro's Quarters < /a >
> 
> Keith's soap is Lush's Parsley Porridge, which I love and use regularly. It doesn't smell as easily identifiably parsley-like as Shiro's making out, but it does smell intensely GREEN.


End file.
